Alfred, Time Traveler!
by what's.originality
Summary: Alfred F. Jones was an ordinary boy who lived an ordinary life with more-than-normally overbearing parents. When he finds a magical box, everything changes with the push of a button. He finds he can transport to places all over the world. As he visits these places, he makes new friends and solves their problems. First stop: London, England! [Human!AU. Rated T for mild language.]
1. Pilot Chapter: The Box

**AN: Hello, I'm back with a new story! And no, Alfred thinks he's a time traveler, but really, it's more like a transporter. Haha, oh well. This is kind of like a 'pilot' chapter to see if people are interested in the plot line/idea. If it is, I will start taking requests on where Alfred will visit next! **

**Another thing to note: This is a HUMAN!AU. Also, hints of pairings can be found. I don't know if I'll romanticize it up, but if you guys want, I will take requests. I do NOT own Hetalia. **

**Thanks, please give some reviews? I'll try updating every week, but not sure how long this is going to last. I mostly write when I actually have inspiration, which is like 0.001% of the time. 1000x gomen okay I can't-**

* * *

"Alfred, what did I just say?! Go play outside! Burn some calories! You're gonna rot your mind playing all those video games!" With those words, a dirty-blond haired boy was shoved out his front door, nearly tripping over himself. He was hastily dressed in a blue down coat and black ski cap. Grumbling, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and walked down the steps of his porch.

_Jeez, _he thought, irritated. _it's like, -50 degrees out! I swear, my parents are trying to kill me! _

As if that wasn't bad enough, his whole neighborhood was covered in freshly-fallen snow. It had to be at least three inches. At least, if Alfred looked on the bright side, there was no wind. It was dead silent, except for a few squealing kids playing on the other side of the street. He started walking down his pathway that led to the street. He took a right, figuring he could go a couple of blocks and come back. Hopefully, that would be enough for his overbearing parents.

The 13-year-old kept his head down, kicking at the clumps of snow with his worn down Nikes. He breathed heavily, fascinated by the clouds of air venting from his mouth. Alfred wouldn't admit it out loud(because that would make him look like such a baby), but it was pretty cool. When he felt like a badass, he'd pretend he was taking a smoke. Other times, he would draw out short puffs of breath, pretending he was a mighty dragon that ruled the skies!

"Hey! Move out of the way!" Alfred looked up in time to see a middle-aged man push him aside, making him fall on his bottom. Angrily, he got up, shaking off the snow that was now soaking into his jeans. He swiveled around, but the man was already jogging off, already houses away from Alfred.

"Jerkface!" the boy called after him, scowling. Alfred decided he had enough with 'playing outside'. All he wanted was to go back home, scarf down a brownie, and resume playing _Grand Theft Auto V_. Turning around, the blond headed back in the direction he came. However, something caught his eye. In the avenue, a few feet away, was a strange, metal device. Its corner was poking out under the blanket of snow. Curious, Alfred walked up to it. He bent down and picked it up. He dusted the snow off of it and examined it. The device looked like a metal cube, about the size of an infant's shoe box. Alfred balanced it on one hand. The cube was surprisingly light. He turned it over and found a red, glowing button.

Alfred looked around the street. He wondered if anybody tossed it out, or maybe they had dropped it on accident. He turned his attention back to the cube. The red, glowing button reminded him of one of his comics, where the villain would use the button as a switch for a trap. Alfred figured that pressing the button would trigger something. He used a finger to press it lightly, shrinking back, if for some reason, an anvil would drop out of the sky, or if a trap door appeared beneath him. The blond waited and waited. Nothing happened.

_Huh, what a waste! _Alfred thought, disappointed. _Oh well, the box itself looks pretty awesome. _

The boy pushed it into his pocket. The device obliged, magically shrinking its figure so that there was no more bulge in his jacket. Alfred gawked at it and took it out. The device then grew back to its normal size. He turned it over again, looking at it. _Weird. _He shoved it into his pocket and took it back out. The same thing happened. As soon as he was going to put it back in his pocket, the cube started glowing with gold light. Then, a sudden flash of light blinded Alfred. He shielded his eyes, yet held the cube with his other hand. Even though he closed his eyes, he felt as if the golden hue was breaking through. The world turned upside down. And then, he was gone. All that was left was his treaded footprints, etched into the snow, on the corner of an everyday avenue.


	2. First Stop: London, England!

The world spun around dizzily and jerked to a stop. Alfred stumbled, crashing into a table. He gripped the side, putting a hand to his forehead. The blonde groaned, shaking off the dizziness. He blinked a few times, taking in his surroundings.

_No. Freaking. Way. _He repeated over in his head. Alfred was sure he was dreaming now. He stood in the middle of a large room, still covered with clumps of snow. The room had a high, cream-colored ceiling and a huge, glass chandelier that hung down from the middle. It had a polished, brown table that was fit for 12 people. The walls were a soft, light yellow. On his right was a intricately carved fireplace and on either side held a smaller version of the chandelier. On his left was a tall, narrow archway that led to another large room. _Whoever lives here must be filthy rich,_ he marveled, _even the floors are fancy!_

"H-Hey! Who the hell are you?" Alfred turned, finding a boy with yellow-blond hair and ridiculously thick eyebrows standing at the entrance of the archway.

"I'm-I'm—"

"How'd you get in here? I didn't even hear you!"

"You—You have a British accent," Alfred mumbled, for that was all he could think about. He stared bewilderedly past the boy, his gaze blank and unfocused. He tried taking a step forward, but stumbled and doubled over, clutching at his queasy stomach. "Ugh, I don't feel so good…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Do _not_ go vomiting on my father's floor! He'll have your head for it!" The British-sounding boy ran over to Alfred's side, grimacing. He took Alfred's shoulders and steered him out of the room, heading to his front door. "Now, I don't know how you got in my sodding house, but you need to get out!" The yellow-blond boy unlocked his door and opened it. He threw the sick boy out his door, waving at him to go. "Go back to your own place!"

Alfred groaned. "Wait...I don't know where I am. All I know is that I pushed this button," he reached into his pocket and brought out the cubic device, "and then I ended up here." He gestured at the air around him. The British boy gaped at it, his eyes widening. Then, without warning, he grabbed Alfred's arm and pulled him back into his house. He slammed the door shut and locked it. He looked out his peephole, as if someone was standing at his door. Alfred frowned, wondering why the boy was acting so strange.

"Upstairs. Go!" The Brit shoved Alfred in the back, despite Alfred's protests. When the two boys reached upstairs, the yellow-blond lead him into what looked to be his room. Shutting the door behind him, the Brit snatched the device out of Alfred's hands.

"Wha—Give it back!" Alfred hissed, trying to grab at it.

The blond struggled to keep it out of reach. "Wait! Just let me—bloody hell— this is _mine_!"

Alfred stopped trying to fight the boy for it. He looked taken aback. "You're lying. I found it!"

"No, I mean, it was mine before yours." The Brit shook his head, crossing his arms. "I can even prove it. I know what it does. It teleports you places. You press the red button, it glows, and then you disappear!"

The azure-eyed boy nodded slowly. "So, you're telling me that you _made_ this?"

"Not exactly… I found it, like you."

The American made another grab for the box. This time, he was successful. Alfred smirked in triumph. "Well then, finders keepers! See you, sucker!" He held out the metal cube and pressed the red button. Nothing happened. Alfred's smirk faded, and he tried pressing it again. Still nothing. "Hey, what happened to it?" He repeatedly pushed the button, gritting his teeth. Why wasn't it working?

The British boy laughed, simpering. "Serves you right, you git. It doesn't work that way."

Alfred turned to the Brit, a look of horror spread across his face. "Then— how do I get back home?"

The Brit was still grinning widely. "Not telling!" he sang teasingly, making a face at the American boy.

"_Pleeease? _I'm sorry I called you a sucker!"

The thick-eyebrowed boy pondered this for a moment. "Fine, I'll help you. But on one condition— let me travel with you, and I'll teach you everything you need to know about the box."

"Deal! Just make it work!" Alfred pleaded, wringing his hands, on the verge of freaking out. The last thing he needed was trying to explain to his already-angry parents what he was doing in England.

"Well, formalities first. My name's Arthur." He took the box from Alfred, examining it in his hands.

"Okay, my name's Alfred. And one thing—"

"Yes, you're in England."

"Wow. Okay, wow." Alfred glanced around, frowning. "It doesn't look that different from my place."

"And your place is..?"

"In America, duh."

Arthur sighed, scratching the back of his head. "That figures. I could tell from your accent." After looking at the cube for some time, he gave it back to Alfred. "Alright, so if this is your first time traveling, it's normal to feel dizzy. It takes an hour to recharge every time you teleport, considering how many people you take along with you. If the box teleports two people, it takes two hours to recharge, and so forth."

Alfred pushed it back into his pocket. "So, basically, I'm stuck here for an hour?"

"It seems that way. Also, no one else can use the box. It's imprinted on you; no one can take it away and use it, unless you choose to let it go on your own."

"Is that what you did?"

Arthur scowled, looking down at his feet. "It wasn't the best choice, now that I think about it."

Alfred wanted to ask why, but decided not to push the matters any further. "Well then," he jumped onto the Brit's plush bed, "I don't mind hanging out here!"

"Hey, don't put your dirty shoes on my bed!" Arthur pulled Alfred off his bed, glowering at the American. "And another thing—be quiet; my parents are coming back soon— or better yet, let's go out, okay? You certainly can take out all that energy you have." He patted Alfred on the back, quickly ushering him out of his room and out of the house.

Once out, Arthur set his wristwatch to one hour. He then turned towards his new companion, asking, "Well, you have an hour left before we can teleport again. What would you like to do?"

"I don't know," Alfred replies, shrugging, "can we get something to eat?"

Arthur snorted. "You're in _England_, for god's sake, and the only thing you can think about is food?!" He cried out indignantly.

"Hey, you're filthy rich, you could probably buy me a whole ton of burgers! I'd be in burger heaven!"

"As if. Instead of eating that greasy thing all the time, you should try to have a decent meal. Like lamb stew, or chicken pot pie! Now that's what I call heaven."

* * *

Instead of actually planning out an itinerary for the American tourist, they strolled down Arthur's street in deep conversation. Neither seemed to mind the others' company at all.

"So, your parents." Alfred started. "Boy, are you lucky! I wish my parents would leave me alone for just a second! I never catch a break!"

"You? Lucky?" Arthur scoffed darkly. "My parents weren't even here to celebrate my birthday." The upset Brit kicked a stray pebble across the sidewalk. "At least your folks care about you."

Alfred frowned, pondering this. "I never thought about it that way. But hey, if it's any consolation, how about you pick where to go? I'll celebrate your birthday with you!"

Arthur perked up when he heard this; a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Really? I'd like that."

The blonde bobbed his head up and down. "Then it's a done deal, dude!" He held out his hand towards the Englishman.

Arthur took it, now grinning. "_And_ the next place we teleport?"

The azure-eyed boy narrowed his eyes. "Fine, fine! But I have to approve of it."

* * *

"Favorite series?"

"Star Trek!"

"I prefer Doctor Who."

"Nah, man, you can't beat Star Trek."

Before they realized it, the two had chatted an hour away with never-ending topics of getting to know each other. Unknowingly, they ended up at the same spot they started— at Arthur Kirkland's house. The young boys were now all gleeful smiles and bright-eyed. It seems as if they had met a compatible friend.

Alfred was about to strike up yet another topic when Arthur's watch beeped. It signaled the end of an hour. "Wow, time's up already? We didn't even do anything, except walk!"

The Briton nodded. "Well, time flies when you're having fun. I thought we had a good discussion. It was a pleasure; I don't really do these sort of things often."

"What, you don't have any friends or something? Like at school and stuff?" Alfred smirked, playfully elbowing the other.

Arthur reddened and looked down at his feet, grumbling something about having a private tutor. He coughed hastily and looked up again, wanting to change the subject. "So! The one hour's up. I can pick where to go, right?"

The American boy smiled in acknowledgement. "Totally! But, shouldn't you let your parents know you'll be gone for awhile?"

"Oh, right," Arthur responded reluctantly. He took a key from his pocket and opened the door to his house. The two stepped inside and Arthur went running into the kitchen. "Just wait there! I'll write a note to them and we'll be off!"

Alfred stood by the doorway rocking on his heels. He wondered what kind of note Arthur would leave his parents. Surely Arthur couldn't just tell them that he was heading off with an American boy, randomly transporting to places around the world with a magic box! Right? Or, do Arthur's parents know about the box too? Suddenly, Alfred did a mental facepalm. His parents! _Alfred's_ parents! Oh, what was he going to do about them? It had already been an hour; his parents would be expecting him home soon!

Arthur came back to find the blond-haired boy thumping his head against his door. "Wh-What's gotten into you?" He demanded, eying the American warily.

"Man, I thought I was gonna go on a great adventure!" came Alfred's muffled moans. "Like— like Indiana Jones, y'know? But, _parents_!" He threw his hands up in the air, exasperated.

"Parents?"

"My mom and dad will be freaking out by now! I have to go back home!"

"Oh, that's it?" Arthur shook his head, sighing. "Then if it makes you happy, we can teleport back to your place and explain. Just make some excuse and we can get going!"

Alfred stopped banging his head. "Okay!" He turned towards Arthur, while taking out the magical device. "How do we do the teleport-thingy?"

The Brit pointed at the device. "See the red button? You—don't press it yet!" He cried out, waving his hands frantically at the other boy to stop. "First of all, clear your mind. Then, think of the place where you want to go."

"That's easy enough!" The azure-eyed boy declared. "I've got this!"

"Wait! Don't think of anything else, or you'll misjump." Arthur warned sternly, his jaw set grimly. "No joke, we could land in the middle of the ocean if you aren't careful."

"Yeah, yeah." Alfred nodded impatiently, his hand hovering carefully above the glowing red button. "Alright, here goes nothing!"

With that statement, he slammed the palm of his hand onto the button, causing the same gold hue to leak out. Arthur gaped in astonishment and grabbed his companion's hand, readying himself for transport.


	3. Second Stop: Paris, France!

It felt like years had past. Alfred opened his eyes first, looking around. His eyesight was still shot; everything looked blurry and unfocused, as if he needed glasses. He tried moving, but his legs felt like jelly. It took all his strength not to collapse.

Arthur, however, was not that lucky. He attempted to step forward, but instead doubled over and fell to his knees. "Haven't done this in awhile," he mumbled thickly. "I forgot how sickening transport makes you."

"Sure, yeah," Alfred replied, not really sure what the Brit just said. His hearing and comprehension wasn't fully functioning either. It even hurt a little to talk. His throat felt raw and itchy. "I think we're here...not sure…I— I'm going to take a nap first."

There was no response from Arthur, but Alfred closed his eyes anyways. He just need a little rest. Just a little nap. No more than five minutes. Before the American knew it, he had passed out.

* * *

Alfred F. Jones woke up to the sounds of angry French and a bickering British boy. The dazed American sat up, and to his relief, he found it easier to do than the last time. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, squinting to see if he was seeing things correctly. According to his eyes(and ears), his English friend was holding a vase of flowers over his head, yelling incoherently at another blond-haired boy, who looked equally as enraged, rambling out several lines in fluent French. God, his head hurt.

"Hey, stop it! STOP IT!" Alfred finally screamed, shooting straight to his feet. "Could you just _shut up_ with your British accent and your—your— French yelling? Where are we?! And put those flowers down!" He shot a glare at Arthur, who returned it.

"How is this _my_ fault?" the Brit snapped back, though grudgingly put the vase down. "I _told_ you to concentrate! Now we're in bloody France! Paris, France! And this guy," he jerked a thumb towards the stranger, "Is threatening to call the police on us!"

Alfred shrugged, his temper subsidizing quickly. "Well, it's not like that's logical." He drawled sarcastically. "Two foreign boys show up in his home! That's perfectly fine, I wouldn't care at all!"

"But— he says the reason he's calling the police is because I'm _British_!" Arthur cried shrilly, disgusted.

Alfred grinned, chuckling. "Or maybe it's those eyebrows. I swear, it's a federal offense to have eyebrows that huge."

"Now there's a point I agree with." The Frenchman piped up, through Arthur's angry protests, smirking. He spoke with a hint of a French accent, but otherwise, his tone was completely fluent.

Arthur gawked at the French boy. "I spent several minutes attempting French, but you could understand English perfectly well?" He gritted his teeth, glowering at the smirking boy.

"Hey, it's not my fault that you can not understand French. I am just that talented."

"You—!"

Alfred, sensing dangerous levels of hostility coming from his friend, stepped between the both of them, putting a hand on Arthur's chest. "Whoa, whoa, you two. Calm down! Sheesh. What happened to formalities? My name's Alfred." The American looked at the Frenchman, smiling tightly.

The unknown boy's smirk only grew wider, his violet eyes flitting between the two transportees. "One American, one Englishman." He chortled, shaking his head amusedly. "Wait until papa hears about this one."

"Look, he's an idiot," Arthur cut in blithely, crossing his arms, "why waste your time? Let's just get out of here."

"Introduce. Yourself." hissed Alfred, nudging Arthur in the side. After a few stubborn seconds, the Brit finally muttered out his name.

The Frenchman finally looked satisfied. "My name is Francis. Francis Bonnefoy."

"That wasn't so bad, right?" Alfred clapped his hands together, smiling uneasily at Francis. "No need to call the cops, yeah?"

"You did just trespass into my home."

"Aw, come on, it was an accident!"

"An accident. How?"

"Yes! Well, uh..." Alfred ran a hand through his dirty-blond hair, laughing awkwardly. He duly noted the glares coming from his British companion. _What the heck, _Alfred gave in, _why not?_

Slowly, he reached into his pocket, revealing the metallic box. "This is how we got in your house." He explained, glancing at Arthur's irridiculous expression.

Francis extended his hand. "May I see this?" Alfred obliged, handing it over. The Frenchman examined it, weighing it in his hand. He then looked back at the American, scoffing. "You must be joking. What do you think, Brit? You've been quiet."

"It's _Arthur_," The emerald-eyed boy corrected, his scowl deepening, "and I have no idea what Alfred's talking about. He's mental." That last comment earned the Briton another nudge in the side.

"Anyways, we'll just be going. We're really sorry for breaking in and stuff. The trespassing thing. We didn't mean to." Alfred tried pleasing the bemused French boy, laughing uneasily. "Can I just have my box back now? We won't bother you ever again!"

Francis tossed the box from one hand to another, his smirk never leaving. "No thank you, I think I'll keep this for awhile." Without another word, the Frenchman dashed past the two stunned boys, opened the door to his apartment, and exited the premises.

"Damn Frenchie!" Arthur yelped, reacting a second earlier than Alfred. "Come on, he has the device!"

Exchanging determined looks, they both raced out of the apartment, tripping over each other. The two raced down the levels of stairs, finally reaching the ground level of the apartment. They exited the building and headed out into the street. Alfred looked right and left. He couldn't find Francis anywhere! Every excruciating second was time that the Frenchman could use to steal away. If he didn't find that box soon, Alfred would have a hard time getting back home.

"Look, over there!" Arthur's hand jerked Alfred's shoulder, breaking through the American's panicked thoughts. Alfred peered across the street. A small figure with wavy, platinum-blond hair and a simple, white button-down shirt with dark jeans darted through the crowd. The figure caught sight of Alfred and Arthur looking, which only made him hasten his pace.

Alfred felt like in one of those chase scenes from his favorite action movies. So cool! What a rush he felt. His adrenaline kicked in and his dizziness was swept away. He had never felt so free in his life, finally away from his overbearing parents. They had never let him wander the streets by himself—discluding his neighborhood streets— let alone in a whole other country!

"After him!" The beyond-thrilled American roared, jutting his pointer finger at the fleeting character. He began to run across the street, when suddenly, the collar of his coat got caught onto something. It was Arthur's hand. The Briton yanked him back, just before a bus sped by the two, just inches away from Alfred's face. So much for that adrenaline.

"Be more careful, will you?" Arthur barked, exasperated. "Look, can you see the walking person light up, you idiot? _Now _you can go!" He released his grip on Alfred, and the two sprinted across the street and into the mass crowd of Parisians.

The two foreigners had to push past shoppers, businessmen, and mothers with crying babies to be able to breathe again. Unfortunately, after they got out of that mess, they still had no clue of the whereabouts of Francis Bonnefoy. The two decided to keep running every which way until they were near exhaustion. As soon as they were about to give up, Alfred rounded another corner and looked up at the sign. It was a pretty large cafe, that stretched from each side of the corner, meeting in the middle with a banner that read _Café de Flore_ in fancy, cream-white letters.

"Wait a minute," Arthur said, coming up behind him, huffing and puffing, "I've seen this before! We've rounded this corner about three times now!"

"Dude, seriously? This blows!" Alfred moaned in frustration. "How am I ever going to get home?"

"It's that damn frog's fault," the Englishman snarled, "and yours too! If you hadn't gone off and _showed_ him the bloody thing—"

"Don't be such a jerkwad! You're a lousy mentor anyways, maybe you should've teleported us in the first place!"

"You idiot, I don't know what your house looks like!"

"Yeah, well, whatever! There's always Google Maps—"

The arguing pair was cut off by a low, yet deafening rumble coming from the American's stomach. The two boys looked at it, then back at each other. Alfred gave the Brit a lopsided grin. "Guess I'm hungry. How about you?"

Arthur rubbed his stomach, agreeing with his friend. "Yeah, now that you mention it, I'm starving!"

The duo looked to the cafe and back at each other. Without realizing it, they had both mentally come to a consensus. They entered the cafe, feeling a satisfying rush of warmth against their cold cheeks. The two chose a seat by the window, sitting in red-velvet cushioned seats with a polished, wooden frame. The table was rectangular, in similar making as the frame of their chairs. Alfred rested his chin on his hand and looked out the window, feeling dejected. The sky was darkening. In no time, it would be dark, and they would have no luck finding their escapee.

"It's 6 o'clock," Arthur responded, as if he were reading the other boy's thoughts, "in the night. Probably why there isn't much people. Not many would go to a coffeehouse for dinner."

Alfred yawned and stretched his hands out behind him. "I don't really care what time it is, all I know is that I need some grub."

A waiter in a plain tuxedo came by and poured two glasses of water and handed out a pair of menus. Alfred eagerly accepted his, opening it as soon as it touched the table. "Hey, this is all in French!" The American frowned, examining the words. "Hm, omelette, I know that one, and sandwiches— hey! There's dessert in here! Cake, tarts, chocolates…"

Arthur rolled his eyes, smirking. "How about some actual food first? I think I'll get a club sandwich and a Caesar Salad."

The azure-eyed boy stuck out his tongue in disgust. "Veggies? No thanks! I'll get a milkshake, and the bacon-omelette thing. I was kinda hoping they would have french fries, though."

"You don't actually think french fries were made in France, right?"

"Duh, why else would they be called _french_ fries?"

Arthur burst out laughing and hastily tried to cover it up with a cough. "Sure, sure it is." He waved it off, trying to keep a straight face. The two then ordered, and after several failed attempts at French with the waiter, they left the waiter with a massive headache and their orders for dinner. After the waiter had cleared the scene, the two 13-year-olds grinned at each other, as if daring each other to laugh first. It was Arthur who started giggling first, his cheeks bright red from holding it in.

"Hey," Alfred pointed out indignantly, "I thought I did a pretty decent job with my French!"

"You're such a dummy," The Brit choked out between fits of giggles, "that wasn't even French! You just spoke in a really, really, _really_, bad French accent."

"All _you_ did was repeat _bonjour_ over and over again!"

That was the last strand. The two were overcome with laughter, disrupting the tranquil, quietness of the cafe. Alfred had tried to conceal his laugh with a gulp of water, but to no avail, had instead spit it out, spraying it all over Arthur's green sweater vest. Arthur sputtered in surprise, though returned the action by dipping his fingers in his water glass and flicking it towards Alfred's face. By that time, the waiter had returned with their plates of food and Alfred's milkshake.

"So, Paris," Alfred took a sip of his milkshake. "the city of love. Do you have a special someone?" He grinned teasingly, raising his eyebrows.

Arthur shrugged and took a bite out of his sandwich. "Not really. I mean, right now, you're the most special person I've met so far."

That earned him another flick of water from the American. "Dude, I meant a _girl_! A chick? A special lady? Anyone?"

The Briton reddened slightly. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and fumbled for his sandwich. "Oh. Oh, I misunderstood that. Not really. I don't meet much girls. Or people, in general."

Alfred was busy scarfing down his delicious omelette. He then swallowed and pointed his fork at the green-eyed boy. "Don't worry bro, I've got your back. All you need is some advice from the love doctor! Which is _moi_!" He declared proudly, puffing out his chest.

"You." Arthur repeated in disbelief. He had now finished his sandwich and now was picking at his salad. "Thanks, but I'll take my chances with my own intellect."

Alfred shrugged, already pouring over the dessert menu, "Your loss, dude. Hey, by the way, how are we paying for this food? 'Cuz I don't have any money. I'm broke!"

Arthur stopped at that. "Uh, I hadn't thought of that. I guess we were too hungry to think of the prices. Bloody hell, I hope they accept pounds." Arthur dug out his wallet, yanking out a few dollar notes. "I'm not sure how the conversion works. Let me get the waiter."

The Englishman started to signal the waiter, but was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. He lowered his hand and turned towards the figure behind him. Alfred's eyes widened. "It's you! You—what's your name— stealer! Thief!"

"I'm not a thief!" The 'thief' exclaimed in feigned surprise, his eyes widening innocently. "I was just borrowing, that's all."

Arthur grimaced and grabbed the stranger's arm. "You're not going anywhere, Bonnefoy!"

Francis beamed. "Miss me? I am so glad you remembered my name, Brit."

"It's _Arthur_!"

The Frenchman ignored the angered boy. He dug through his pockets and brought out several euro notes. "There. The meal's on me, mes amis, my friends." He then took a spare chair from a neighboring table and slid it over. The French boy happily plopped himself between the two stunned foreigners.

"Th-Thanks, man." Alfred stuttered, still eying Francis warily.

"And our box?" The other inquired stiffly.

"That's right! Here you are." Francis brought it out from his opposite pocket, setting it on the table as well. "Pardon, I hope you didn't mind my joke. So, tell me, how are you enjoying my city?"

"It's pretty cool, I mean, we've chased you through all those streets, so we have been sightseeing. Technically." the American chuckled nonchalantly, taking the box back.

"I am glad that you picked this café. It's one of my favorites."

"What's so great about a coffeehouse?" the Briton cut in, grumbling.

"What?! Don't tell me that you do not know about this café!" Francis sat up straight, looking wildly from the American to the Englishman. Both looked clueless. Francis huffed. "This is the _Café de Flore_, one of the oldest and most prestigious cafés in Paris! A landmark in itself!"

"Whoa," Alfred breathed. Even Arthur looked mildly impressed. "So that's why everything was so freakin' expensive!"

"Yes," Francis continued, a little irritated, "how typical of you two to pick an expensive spot to eat." He turned over his jeans pockets to prove his point.

"We didn't need your help! Now, thanks, and goodbye!" England stood up, staring at the Frenchman with clear dislike.

Francis frowned, crossing his arms. Turning his interest towards the American, he asked, "I never understood what that box was meant for? Could I see what it does? You do owe me!" The French boy added when Alfred gave him a skeptical look.

"Fine, I'll show you! But you can come along for only one ride." Alfred stated seriously. "Arthur, is the two hours up, yet?"

Arthur reluctantly nodded, still glaring at the Frenchman. Alfred grinned. He took out the device, and the red button glowed in recognition. "Alright, everyone, place your hands on the box!"

Francis' brow furrowed, but nevertheless obliged. Arthur joined in, placing his hands on the opposite side of the box from the Frenchman. Alfred looked from one companion to another. "Okay, transport, home!"

Francis shot the American an unconvinced look. "I still think this one is crazy!" he whispered to Arthur, to which Arthur grunted.

The trio waited for a few seconds. Nothing happened. Alfred tilted his head, frowning. That wasn't right. It was supposed to be glowing by now! "It's supposed to work," he assured Francis, shaking the box. "Home. Home! _Home!_" Alfred smashed the red button repeatedly. "Work, work, work, you stupid thing!"

"Alfred, you git, stop that! You're going to break it!" Arthur reprimanded. "Just concentr—" The Briton was cut off by an intense glow of light. The device shuddered violently in Alfred's hand. The azure-eyed boy gripped it firmly and shut his eyes. For the third time, Alfred transported with his magical box.


End file.
